


night hath better sweets to prove

by silverscream



Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: AU where everyone is happy, F/M, Fluff, Gen, The fluffiest sht i've ever written, Tumblr Prompt, i can't, no one dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-19
Updated: 2016-09-19
Packaged: 2018-08-16 01:02:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8080624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverscream/pseuds/silverscream
Summary: "You heard me. Take it off." - prompt given by lovely itach-i over on tumblr.





	

"You heard me. _Take. It. Off_.

"Mother, I can't!"

Dorian was doing as good a job as he thought possible of biting his lips so he would not burst out laughing out loud in front of his mother. Gods, he could barely hold it in.

Georgina Havilliard was looking increasingly exasperated, her long auburn hair nearly bristling up, very much like a hedgehog's, and her eyebrows scrunched down tightly in a dreadful scowl. Her ire was palpable, and to Dorian's glee, directed straight at the dais upon which the throne of Adarlan, shaped like a mighty wyvern just about to take flight, was raised.

"Roooaaaaaaaaaawr"

And at the other wyvern, who seemed utterly convinced that he could immitate said throne.

"Dorian, I swear to the gods-"

"Rawwwwwwwwwr"

That was it. Dorian burst out laughing before he could stop, eyes tearing up, shoulders shaking. The king threw his head back and howled with laughter, the sight of the humongous wyvern trying to pose and mimic the expression of the sculpted throne too much for him.

His mother's menacing glare only added to his hysterical giggles.

While true that a so-called royal ball might not have been the best occasion for Abraxos to act as second throne, especially since Dorian was supposed to play the conquering king, the fairy-tale figure of a man who'd helped purge the world of darkness. Maintaining facades was increasingly difficult, however, when that tiny little minx of a girl, Evangeline, with her red hair and silken skirts streaming in her wake ran circles around his courtiers, Fleetfoot in her wake.

  
Dorian had a faint inkling of whom was to blame for Abraxos's and the wyverns' sudden appearance in the palace gardens during the ball, Manon's wyvern the only one small enough to fit through the open doors and arches, and take his rightful place on the dais.

He wiped at his eyes as Evangeline tried to climb the wyvern and assume a queenly mien.

Dorian was oddly glad that his mother had departed, deeming her son too childish for such outbursts. He found that he didn't particularly give a damn. His first feast as proper king of Adarlan might as well be memorable, if not for all the backwards political mannouvers he'd played tonight, then for the spectacle Lysandra's ward put out, to the general enjoyment of the audience.

The summer night's breeze felt like a balm on his skin, ruffling the collar of his shirt and material of his sleeves, the sweet fragrances of blooming trees and flowers dancing on the air currents and veils and garlands hanging from the ceiling and ornate columns in the stone castle's grand hall.

Wine goblet in hand, he felt content with life. His friends were laughing, Chaol leaning on his cane, trying to not seem too outraged by the guards who let a coven of wyverns mow the royal gardens, Nesryn's sardonic smile the only proper answer to his ramblings. Lysandra was enjoying herself tremendously because of her ward's antics. The smirk on her face was slightly terrifying, and Dorian pitied for an instant whichever poor bastard had chosen to show even a semblance annoyance at Evangeline, as the shifter had located her prey, and was strolling in his general direction much like a cat to the mouse trap. Ghislaine was sprawled on a couple of chairs, a book in her hand, and he had the vague feeling that one of the demon twins had rather loudly called dibs on some minor lord, much to the amusement of her sister. Aelin and Rowan were nowhere to be seen and Aedion and his officers howled with laughter at one of the tables.

A torch's flame skittered for a moment at his side, as Dorian took a swig from his cup, the wine a good pretext for the warmth that flooded his blood.

"Proud of him, are you?" he said with a smile at the approaching figure.

"As always," the answer came, the low rasp of her voice making his smile widen. It was the wine, truly.

Manon was a vision. _As always_. Blood red and deep burgundy silk fell in drapes to the floor, baring her finely boned throat and shoulders, the muscles and skin exquisite in the candlelight. Her curled hair fell over one shoulder, soft locks contrasting to the milky tone of her skin and the vivid hues of her dress.

Her eyes gleamed in the shadows, gilded warmth underneath wisps of white lashes. Amusement shone brightly in them and the slight upturn of her red mouth, and Dorian felt his smile widen and become softer all the same.

"How did it all go, princeling?" she asks, earning a chuckle from him as she comes closer, the music in the hall a slow beat, thrumming in time with his heart and the ribbons of magic dancing around him.

"As if you weren't right beside me," she chuckles as Dorian snakes an arm around her waist, the shadows around them becoming a darker shade of night at his behest, the light shining brightly someplace else in the hall, if only for a moment. "Careful there, witchling. I may very well have to be taken seriously tonight some more. It will do us no good if they know you have me wrapped around your finger," he whispers against her lips.

"Oh?" she coquets, hooded eyes boring into his as lips meet the corner of her mouth, the rasp hidden between the letters of her word making the ice in his blood melt and boil, "you mean to tell me that me flashing my teeth wasn't what convinced that Wendlyn privateer that refusing your arrangement would be a very," she breathes the word against his teeth, " _very_ ," enunciation clear, and her voice low, and gods, maybe his blood left his brain somewhat, "bad idea."

Dorian's fingers tangle in her hair at the base of her skull, his other hand splayed wide between her shoulder blades, a solid weight cold enough to burn, and the slight tremor in her bones has him holding her closer. He melts into her, ice against blistering hot steel, her nails - not the iron ones, for once - scratching slightly at his neck, slipping beneath the collar of his shirt, catching against the skin of his collarbones, and he slants their mouths together, alone between the heady shadows of a summer night in a hall chockfull of people.

"Roaaaaaaaaaawrrrrr" comes the war cry, snapping their attention towards the wyvern on the days.

They part, the shadows do so too, and Dorian takes one look at the totem occupying the dais and his throne, Abraxos draped over the mighty chair, Fleetfoot barking in triumph on the back of his neck, and Evangeline, having somehow found a Crochan cape, perched atop the wyvern's head.

The first he hears is Manon's snort of glee near his ear, and _gods_ , he thinks as he wraps an arm around her shoulders and watches her wipe the tears of mirth at the corners of her eyes, _gods_ , as his friends, humans and witches and fae, laugh in the hall below, _gods_ , as Evangeline poses like a certain rider, and said rider looks up at him and smiles, _gods_ , he is happy.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for taking such a dreadfully long time to do this. I hope you like it :) 
> 
> Dorian fluff, Bc Dorian and my poor heart need it. Badly.


End file.
